


Call Me Friend but Keep Me Closer

by jessclare



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Just Best Enemies being Best Enemies, Other, Set directly after S12E10, Translation Available, rated m to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:13:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23175994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessclare/pseuds/jessclare
Summary: “You needed me, Doctor.” The Master’s voice is the softest whisper, but it seems to echo from the walls. “No one else is coming for you.”Or: the Doctor is locked up in space prison and her best enemy arrives to break her out.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 226





	Call Me Friend but Keep Me Closer

**Author's Note:**

> Russian translation available at [ficbook.net/readfic/9169756](https://ficbook.net/readfic/9169756) :)

The floor of the prison cell is smooth and cold and vibrates with the hum of the engines. Something else in the air too, something sinister, the frequency burying itself into her brain. The Doctor tries to lie very still and fights down the nausea. It feels like it’s been an eternity, and maybe it has, since she was taken from her TARDIS. In the silver darkness of deep space it’s difficult to tell.

Flashes of the Matrix, of Gallifrey burning, come at her again, and now she’s fighting down panic. How much time, how many memories has she lost? Is there any hope of getting them back, or getting out of here? She draws a shaky breath and closes her eyes, willing her mind to halt.

_ Contact. _

The Doctor shudders. A flash of warmth runs down her spine, a gleam of dark eyes. A second later, just the hum of the engines.

Emptiness. Her breath leaves tiny particles of frost on the damp floor as she drifts back towards the swirling black of unconsciousness.

Then the door of her cell blasts into tiny shards that disintegrate mid-air in a chaos of noise and burning metal. The Doctor pushes herself off the floor and against the far wall of the cell. Her legs nearly buckle under her – how long has it been since she last stood up? The smoke stings in her throat and makes her eyes water.

And out of the smouldering hole in the wall steps the Master. Smirking, ash in his hair. The Doctor slumps against the wall, fingers trying to grasp at something but slipping helplessly against the smooth coldness.

“Nice place you got here. Very… Exclusive. Hard to get in. And the company you keep? Oof.”

“What –” 

“You look terrible, by the way.”

“I feel terrible.” The words stumble out of her mouth before her brain can catch up. Like she’s been drugged, like it’s been forever at least since she’s spoken to anyone.

“Good thing I’m here, then. Guess your little human pets are not much cop in situations like this. Let’s go.” 

The Doctor takes a shaky step towards what used to be the door, carefully looking past the Master. “This is supposed to be maximum security.” 

“It’s the Judoon.” Even without looking, she can  _ hear  _ the eye-roll in his voice. “I could say I admire their work ethic but alas, I’m not a big believer in ethics. Either way, they were more of a speed bump than a roadblock, darling. Come on.”

“But –” The Doctor stumbles sideways, dizzy, until her hand meets the cold rock of the wall. “How are you here? I thought...” She looks up, locks eyes with the Time Lord. “I thought you died.”

“You were going to live. Didn’t seem fair that I should have to die without you.”

“Then why?” the Doctor breathes. “Why are you here? Why would you come to save me?”

With a few strides, the Master is next to her. The room tilts, like there’s something wrong with the gravity field. The Doctor lurches forwards and an arm comes up around her waist, steadying her. Soft. Warm. The shock of adrenaline is leaving her and she can feel herself drifting again.

“You needed me, Doctor.” The Master’s voice is the softest whisper, but it seems to echo from the walls. Dripping, burying itself into her brain. The room stops spinning. “No one else is coming for you.”

“How long has it been?” the Doctor mutters into his shoulder.

“Oh. A long time, I guess. I had to find my TARDIS. That you stole from me in Paris. And… It was a while before I started looking for you. We could go look for your inmate records if you’d like. I’m sure the Judoon kept track.”

The Doctor lifts her head. “Where – where are they? The guards?” 

“Really? They’re dead, Doctor.” 

“No…”

“They got between me and you. An unsafe place to be. Come on.” 

Realising she can’t stand up on her own, the Doctor follows when the Master starts moving towards the door, arm still around her waist. A tall, metal filing cabinet stands in the corridor outside, with its door open and a blue glow flooding out. The Master pulls the Doctor in and kicks the door shut behind them.

The Master’s TARDIS looks different this time, but the mess is the same. The Doctor feels a lurch of panic in her hearts as she thinks of her own TARDIS, stranded in the ruins of planet Earth all alone. She stumbles, and the Master’s grip on her waist tightens. He glances at her, sideways, not saying anything.

The Doctor lets herself be led until they reach a dimly lit bedroom, with soft rugs on the floor and a double bed stacked with pillows and blankets. Opposite the bed, an actual fireplace with big, hot flames licking the ornate black frames. Expensive sheets on the bed glint in the firelight – the Doctor wishes she had the energy to make fun of the sheer drama of it all but for now, giving the illusion of standing upright somewhat on her own is about all she can do.

“Sit.” The Doctor finds that she can’t work up the strength to argue. Being inside a TARDIS is making her slightly steadier, but her brain still feels foggy and bruised and her limbs shake with exhaustion as she sinks down on the edge of the mattress. The Master kneels down in front of her.

“Look at me.” 

The Doctor blinks slowly and tries to focus. A hand comes up to tilt her chin up.

“What did they do to you?” The words vibrate with rage, barely contained, but the hand supporting her chin is steady.

“Nothing, I... Some kind of force field. Telepathic. Kept getting worse and worse.”

Fingers push into her hair, thumbs against her temples. She can feel the Master moving among her muddled thoughts, like cool water poured over burnt skin. Flames reflect in his eyes.

“Better?”

“Yes,” the Doctor breathes. 

“Good.” The Master’s fingers linger in her hair. She shivers as he runs a thumb over her cheekbone. The fire crackles and the TARDIS wraps them in the familiar sounds of engines running in the background. Time slows. 

_ I wish we could stay here. _

The thought hangs in the air, shot through with a memory of the suns climbing over the red horizon, fingers intertwined. The suns flaming in the sky, fingertips cool against warm skin in the long red grass. She’s not sure whose thought it is but she remembers that morning, so many mornings like that. Their home, seemingly beautiful. Their friendship, seemingly forever.

The Doctor leans forwards until her forehead touches the Master’s. The Master’s hand slides down to rest at the back of her neck, a comforting pressure at the base of her skull. It’s too painful to linger in that memory of Gallifrey, so the Doctor pushes it away gently and focuses on the sensation of soft fingertips lightly stroking the nape of her neck. The pain in her head is easing with each passing moment, the fog draining from her skull.

_ Touch me. _

Not her thought, definitely not hers. And the way it slips into her mind, thin and half-formed and desperate, she’s not convinced she was supposed to hear it at all. Barely breathing, she lifts a shaky hand to the Master’s temple, feeling the soft short hair and running her thumb over the rough stubble on his cheek.

The Master pulls away and is up on his feet before the Doctor realises he’s even moving. She nearly falls off the bed, the space in front of her suddenly so very empty.

“You should rest.” The Master’s voice is hoarse and the soft middle ground of their shared thoughts is gone. He’s looking away. “I’ll see you later.”

“Wait –” 

But the Master has already disappeared around the corner. The Doctor lets out a sigh. Her body feels heavy but as her eyes begin to close she feels like she might actually manage some sleep instead of the bottomless drifting she got used to in the cell. The ship of your best enemy may not be much of an improvement from prison, but at least there’s a bed. She shakes off her boots, grabs the corner of the duvet and pulls it over her shoulders as she lets herself fall sideways onto the soft mattress and then asleep, immediately, like someone flicking a switch.

*

When the Doctor wakes up, the fire has burned out and the room is soaked in a low blue light. She’s nestled in a pile of blankets and pillows, curled up in the middle of the bed. A glass of water glimmers on the bedside table. It’s very quiet, they’re not moving. She drags herself into a half-sitting position against the pile of pillows, bracing herself for a headache that doesn’t come.

The water looks tempting and she wishes she had her sonic to check whether it’s poisoned, but figures the Master could have killed her in a million different ways in her sleep, and takes a careful sip. It’s just… water, and she imagines the Master tiptoeing in, gently placing the glass on the table, for her to find when the woke up. It’s small, but it’s the nicest thing anyone has done for her in a long time.

False hope. She crawls out of bed, laces up her boots and sets out to look for the man who saved her.

The layout of the TARDIS is unfamiliar but she relaxes her mind in the dim lighting and lets her feet lead her where she needs to go. It feels strange to be walking after so long, to be free to move. To be surrounded by a calming silence and the reassuring presence of a TARDIS consciousness, even if its not her own TARDIS.

The console room still has some of O’s furniture scattered around it, but it’s more recognisable as a TARDIS console room than it was when she got on board in the Australian Outback all that time ago. It’s almost dark, but the Master is outlined in the glow of the console, head bent, fussing with something.

“Hey.”

The Master turns around. He looks beautiful, the Doctor thinks, leaning against the console, wavy hair flopping into his eyes. No coat, arms crossed against his chest – the arms that caught her and dragged her from her cell. Her most impressive friend, her best friend for as long as she can remember. And that still means something. Has to.

“Sleep well?”

“Yes.” 

“Good.” The Master turns back to the console.

“Where are we?”

“Near the Crab Nebula. I thought I’d try to locate your TARDIS for you.”

The Doctor feels a soft dizziness, completely different from the way she felt in the cell. Her hearts, out of sync suddenly. She gives the Master’s back a small smile. “Thank you.”

When she walks up to the console, the Master steps aside, avoids looking at her.

“I left it on Earth. Towards the end of the Cyber War.”

“Right.” The Master rotates a dial. “I’ll drop you off.”

“I don’t think I’ve said thank you, yet.” She moves closer, trying to read the Master. His shoulders are tense and he’s looking intently at the coordinates swirling on the screen. “For getting me out of that cell, I mean.”

“Don’t.”

“Thank you.”

“That’s not why I did it.”

“Still.” 

She touches his arm and he flinches, but looks up. There’s desperation in those eyes, hunger, and it’s not like they haven’t been here before. Their love and hatred for each other waxing and waning, paths crossing over the centuries. Sometimes fighting, other times…

The Doctor takes a step forward and wraps her fingers around the Master’s collar. She brings her other hand to the back of the other Time Lord’s head and, locking eyes with him for a second, seeing a dark, desperate  _ yes  _ in them, pulls him in for a kiss. His lips part in a gasp and she runs her tongue along his top lip, softly. It’s familiar but it feels new, thrilling, this body not used to this yet. His beard scratching her skin, so unlike his last body.

The Master breaks the kiss and pushes the Doctor away with something that sounds like a sob.

“What are you doing?” He runs the back of his hand over his mouth like he’s tasting poison.

“I thought –”

“Stay away from me.”

“I just… Please –”

“I don’t need your pity! You –”

“Pity?” The Doctor realises her voice is rising to match his shouting. “It’s not pity, you complete idiot. It’s never been  _ pity _ .”

They stare at each other, breathing heavily, crouched like they’re ready for a fight. The silence feels empty after raised voices.

“You’re lying,” the Master says, low, dangerous.

“Oh yeah?” The Doctor grabs the Master and plants her fingertips against his temple. The Master’s mind opens up in shock and she pushes in with all the emotion in her, all the hurt, fear, joy, sadness, love she’s ever felt for him. Flashes of them together, apart, hearts breaking, healing, breaking again. _ I wonder what I’d be without you.  _ She feels the other Time Lord trying to fight back, to block her, and she pushes him away with one last flash. Anger, now. She lets go and the Master falls, but not before he can pull her down with him. They tumble to the floor together. 

“You  _ bitch _ ,” the Master hisses, inches from the Doctor’s face, tears in his eyes. 

“The rage and pain in my hearts,” the Doctor chokes back. “Think you’re the only one who feels that?” She plants a hand on the Master’s chest and tries to push herself up, but the Master’s hand flies up to grab the back of her head, forcing her nose to nose with him. She can feel the hammering of two hearts under her palm. Chest falling and rising with heavy breaths.

“You’re not who I thought you were, Doctor.” The Master’s face distorts like the words physically hurt him as they form on his lips. His grip tightens in her hair. The Doctor grits her teeth.

“Tough. I’m not who I thought I was, either. But I need my best friend.” 

“You probably had another best friend, before me. Your first time at the Academy. Bound to have been popular, since you’re so  _ special _ .”

“You bitch.”

“No, I mean it. You’ve had this – this whole life as the  _ Chosen One _ –” he shivers, and the shivers reverberate through the Doctor’s body. “All that life before me.”

“I didn’t choose any of that. I don’t want that. I want you, and me, going off to see the stars together. I choose you. Always have, if you’d let me.” For all her experience giving big speeches, all the melodrama, and the fact she’s lying on top of the biggest drama queen of them all, she can feel her face getting a bit hot.

The Master stares at her, dark eyes wide and glistening in the low light of the console room for one breathless moment. Then, she feels the grip on the back of her head loosen and the Master pulls her down with a moan, meeting her mouth halfway, all teeth and a feeling like she’s being held underwater, dizzy and breathless. She lets her body relax into his, lets her fingers tangle in his hair.

The Master smells of smoke still, and like himself, and the Doctor breaks the kiss to gasp in the familiar scent, eyes closed, mind flooding with memories. The Master’s mouth brushes her jawline and she lets out a soft noise, rolling to her side and pulling the Master on top of her. A low chuckle in her ear, followed by kisses down her neck, and she feels like she might lose consciousness and just float away. She would, if it wasn’t for the warm body pressing her against the floor. Hard, and soft, and shivering.

She stifles a whimper when the Master’s teeth graze her earlobe.

“As hot as I find this,” the Master says, low and rough, but with a smile in his voice now, “And believe me, I find this – oh –”

The Doctor opens her eyes and looks at the man hovering above her, and she knows that the grin on his face is mirrored on her own.

“– I also have a bedroom, you know.” 

“Oh. Yes,” she breathes, leaning up to kiss him sloppily. “I guess I’ve got used to floors, lately.”

“If I could kill them again, I would. I  _ would _ .”

“I know.” She cups his face in her hands. He meets her gaze and holds it. _ I know. And thank you. _

They struggle to their feet, and the Master pushes the Doctor’s coat off her shoulders in the process. With the coat lying on the floor, he seems momentarily stunned, eyes roaming over the Doctor’s body, before pulling her tighter into his arms, kissing her, breathlessly, desperately, forcefully. They stumble backwards in the general direction of the bedroom, fingers knotting in hair and tugging at clothes. The Master’s waistcoat and shirt have a completely bizarre amount of buttons on them, so the Doctor shoves him against a wall in the TARDIS hallway, wishing again she had her sonic at hand as she undoes enough of the buttons to just rip the rest of them open and push the layers of fabric out of the way. The Master’s protest at his ruined shirt dies down very quickly when she runs her hands down his bare chest, skin against hot skin, and hooks her fingers in the belt loops of his trousers, pulling him along.

The fireplace is lit again and the room bathes in a warm, soft glow when the two Time Lords stumble in, panting and grabbing at each other.

“Cheeky,” the Doctor rolls her eyes.

“What?” 

“Your TARDIS really knows how to set the mood... Oh, never mind.”

“Don’t you like the fireplace?” 

“It’s stupid. I love it.” The Doctor shoves him down on the bed with a grin and struggles out of her shirts. There’s a pause, both Time Lords looking at each other in silence. The Master looks gorgeous in the firelight, his black hair a desperate mess and his eyes wide, lips bruised and parted. Danger, opportunity. The Doctor thinks back to her first meeting with him as O, several of her regenerations ago. Something had moved in her – his – hearts even then. Like he’d almost known.

A whisper brushes through her mind, then an image. Herself, from the Master’s perspective, standing there at the foot of the bed in her trousers and sports bra. Her blond hair backlit by the fire, bite mark on her neck – she frowns in mock outrage and touches the bruised skin –  _ beautiful, beautiful, beautiful _ . Then another image, her lying on her back on the bed, one hand clutching at the sheets and the other knotted in the Master’s hair as he bends his head down between her thighs to –

“Hey. No skipping ahead.” She pushes the thought away, wobbly with desire, hearts racing.

“That one wasn’t mine.” The Master sits up, a truly, truly evil grin lighting up his face. “But we can definitely arrange that.”

The Doctor pounces on him, straddling his hips, pushing him into the mattress. “Well, since you’re offering.”

*

The sheets are cool and smooth against her skin as she comes to, her body still soft and warm with pleasure. Her hand rests on the Master’s chest and she tries to lie very still, soaking up the quiet moment.

The Master stirs, dark eyes finding hers. “You should get captured by the space police more often, love.”

“It’s been a great experience, yeah,” she smiles. “I should probably go, though. Let the fam know I’m not dead, and that I was in prison, and that I’m not anymore.”

“Do you have to?”

“Yup,” the Doctor presses a soft kiss to the Master’s lips, tasting herself on them. She smiles against his mouth. “I do have this time machine, though. So maybe I don’t need to rush.”

“Time machine? You’re so impressive,” the Master sighs. 

“Learned that from my best friend.”


End file.
